


The Ones

by DamadiSangue



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamadiSangue/pseuds/DamadiSangue
Summary: Three times these words had slipped between them; the first two were Alex, the last Albert.Only one had been collected - accepted.In the end, it was the most important.





	The Ones

"By the time I’ve finished with you,

you won’t know whether you’ve been kissed or cut,

whether you were loved or butchered.

And either way you probably won’t care,

just grateful you came close enough to touch."

\- Warsan Shire -

 

 

 

**The Ones**

 

 

 

They never prayed, they never begged.

 

_It would have been **un** worthy._

 

The imbeciles beg, or the weak.

Those who need an ineffable and transparent God who watch over them - over their sins, their shame.

 

_Repent, and_ everything _will be forgiven - even your worst action._

 

Words like those never existed between them: they couldn't,

 

_They didn't have to._

 

And yet...

 

_"I'm so sorry."_

 

Three times these words had slipped between them; the first two were Alex, the last Albert.

Only one had been collected - accepted.

In the end, it was the most important.

 

 

**1.**

 

Six years.

One last night together, an incredibly cold morning.

For so long she had been away from Raccoon City ( _from him_ ) and she wanted to go back.

He touches her neck with his fingers, _tightens._

Alex doesn't escape, welcomes his anger - his _pain._

The S.T.A.R.S. office lies quiet, silent.

"I'm so sorry." she says, and Albert strengthens his grip, lifting her almost from the ground.

"I'm sorry." she repeats, and groans when his mouth finds her neck - he _bends_ her, and _bites._

He will hurt her, she knows that; at least as much as she did to him.

He will torture her thoughts, her skin; he will destroy what he will find in the middle.

Alex tilts her head, listening to his hands on her hips, between her thighs. 

"I'm sorry." she murmurs and closes her eyes.

Wesker holds her against him and _thrusts._

 

 

**2.**

 

You can't ask forgiveness to the dead: they can no longer answer you.

Alex shakes - a vibration of repressed and absolute fury.

She stares to the African sky, its inconsistent clouds.

Tricell’s facility no longer matters, overturned chairs and empty offices.

She brings a hand to her chest, slides with her fingertips on Albert's remains - ash _and_ dust.

 

_Obsidian **and** gold._

 

Behind her, her men are picking up what the BSAA didn't find of Wesker's experiments - of _his life._

Las Plagas, Uroboros - tragedies already announced.

Alex diverts her gaze, placing it on Excella's desk - split in two, decorated by the remains of one of the Infected.

"I'm sorry." she murmurs, and swallows "I should have accepted your offer."

 

_I should have come with you. Here, in Africa. Preventing you from dying for the delusion of another man -  Spencer._

 

Silence is already an answer.

 

 

**3.**

 

Crumpled sheets, reduced to nothing more than a blue punch at the bottom of the bed.

Damp skin, wet thighs; Alex fades under his hands, groans _and_ bites _and_ comes - almost a shy sound.

Albert is always amazed at what Alex seems to be hiding in those moments - how much the image of her bent between his legs doesn't match the gaze she reserves for him.

**No** shame, **no** limits - she doesn't know them.

She seeks him without shame, conquers his spaces.

She welcomes his hands along her hips, on her ribs  - up to the soft curve of her breasts and around her mouth.

She licks his fingertips, closes her eyes - she _bites._

Albert releases an indecent groan, thrusts in her - until there is no more space to divide them.

He opens her thighs, raises up on his elbows.

Wesker studied her face, her fragile beauty: her mouth, her expression.

He switches their positions, licks a string of blood and _more._

He murmurs it in her hair, between his clenched teeth.

He feels her stretching beneath him, clinging to his shoulders, tearing his skin with her small, red lacquered nails.

He smells her desire, her doubt; a flavor that lies on his tongue, in his heart.

He repeats it, again and again - until even he believes it. Until **she** believes it. 

Alex closes her eyes, _comes;_ she takes him deeply with her.

Albert follows her without regrets.

 

 

********

 

 

"Do you feel this heart?

It's a rotten, corrupt thing.

This is something that shouldn't be here.

Not after what I did. _What_ we did.

Yet it still beats. _Drags_ in my chest.

And sometimes, I wonder _why_.

What drives it to exist - to try to look like the others.

And I wonder, in the clearest hours of the morning, when the night dies.

Then I understood. _I saw it_ , Alex.

And I realized that this moment - **this** instant - was a good place to end our story.

Or to start it. "

 

 

 

 

"They shared the weight of memory.

They took up what others could no longer bear.

Often, they carried each other, the wounded or weak."

\- Tim O'Brien -

**Author's Note:**

> Again, charmsfly, you are my savior: thank you!


End file.
